Jealous Hearts
by GranthamGal
Summary: Robert returns from war to find things are not as he left them. He begins to wonder if his absence has changed his marriage irreparably? Cobert Valentine's Day Fanfic exchange story.
1. Part One

_A/N: Happy Valentine's Day, Lovelies! This story has gotten slightly out of hand, so it has been sectioned into a multi-chapter fic and one chapter will be posted each day until Valentine's Day. My prompt will be revealed at the end of the story. _

* * *

_May 1902_

The war was nearly over and Robert Crawley had been released. On its last legs, the battles had become a formality more than necessity, and there was talk that a peace treaty was about to be signed. A month earlier he had been called into his commander's barracks and received the news: for him, the war was in fact over. Released with thanks for his service, Robert was finally free to leave the horrid place behind him and get back to where he truly belonged.

Robert had been so excited to return home to his wife and daughters that he packed his bags with the speed of a thief, throwing things in carelessly and with a reckless abandon of a man desperate to be close to his family.

And so he had taken his poorly packed luggage and set off for Downton early one May morning.

It took him nearly two weeks to settle back into life at Downton before realizing that not all was as he had left it, many months before. He had taken leaves sporadically, spending frenzied weekends with Cora in London or a few weeks at home with the family when he could, but the last month of war had been trying, and he had not seen his family in rather a long time.

The girls had seemingly grown into different people—Mary with her sharp tongue and steely gaze, Edith with her silent resolve, and Sybil with her utterly _endless_ chatter. They were no longer babies, but rather, young women of ten, eight and six.

And then there was Cora; Cora who, well, looked utterly exhausted.

He saw it in her eyes just as soon as the car brought him up the drive upon his return. They were all standing outside waiting for him, his family and staff, but he could in the hunch of her shoulders and the strain of her smile that something was not quite right.

The girls had run to him, squealing with delight and throwing their small arms around him, as if they were afraid that he would disappear right before their eyes if they weren't careful. Even Mary, who at first seemed content to watch from afar, hugged him tightly and murmured how much she had missed him.

When his fascination had worn off a few moments later and the girls ran into the house to raid the library for tea biscuits, he had finally been allowed a moment with his wife. Wrapping his arm around hers, he led her inside and away from the prying eyes of the servants. Kissing her soundly as soon as they entered the main hall, he felt his body finally relax, and his heart stitch back together; the missing pieces were finally back within his grasp. He had his girls and life could return to normal. But when Cora pulled out of his grasp seconds later, taking his hand and explaining that she had tea waiting in the library, he couldn't help but be slightly perplexed.

It was Cora, but somehow it wasn't. Her kiss was quick and almost an afterthought. Her grasp was firm, rather as though she was leading a child, and her voice was strained from its usual gentle quality. Her gaze was soft and happy, but when he held her close he could feel tension returned in her embrace.

He watched her flinch upon entering the library to find the girls covered in crumbs, all the delicate tea sandwiches resting in their laps as they ate. Only Sybil looked up at them as they entered, grinning widely and revealing a mouth full of food.

Cora looked like she might cry.

Instead, she mumbled something about having to discuss dinner with Mrs. Hughes and wandered out of the library, leaving him with his three messy girls. Mary scolded them, saying something about ruining Mama's special tea, but they seemed utterly absorbed in the task of eating, so Robert hadn't bothered to inquire any further.

He was simply glad to be home.

Hours later, after a successful dinner with his mother, sister and brother-in-law all in attendance, Robert found his wife in front of her vanity, inspecting the pins as she removed them from her hair. Her maid was nowhere in sight and she looked to be dressed for bed—her dressing gown wrapped securely around her. He was unable to contain his grin of delight as he approached her from behind, leaning down to kiss her neck and relishing in the familiar scent of her lavender perfume. Finally, she smiled like _his _Cora, and turned to lean into his touch. She stood to meet him and wrapped her arms around his neck, whispering in his ear how glad she was that he was home. And then, just as she leaned in to kiss him, a mischievous sparkle in her eye, a sharp _knock_ at the door interrupted them.

"_Mama. Mamaaaa?"_ Edith's little voice pierced right through the door and he felt Cora slink out of his grasp seconds later, trudging over to the door and opening it to reveal their second daughter standing in her nightdress with a most inconvenient frown on her face.

"_Mama, I cannot get to sleep. Will you read to me?" _Edith looked pitifully at her mother before looking beyond her and noticing his presence. She eyed her papa suspiciously before looking back to Cora once more. _"Perhaps I can stay in here tonight?" _She entreated.

Robert quickly took hold of the situation, not wanting anything to get in the way of his and Cora's reunion. _"I will read to Edith," _he offered, shuffling out of the room and murmuring for Cora to wait for him as he led Edith out of the doorway and back down the hall.

When he returned an hour later, he expected Cora to be sitting up in the pale blue and cream-colored lace confection he had purchased her from Paris right before he left for the war. In one of her letters she had promised to wear it for him upon his return. He nearly blushed, thinking of the other thing she had promised. Opening the door with tingling anticipation, he had to stop himself from groaning with disappointment when he was met with a dimly lit room; Cora was already fast asleep and bundled up in some God awful tartan dressing gown, sleeping at the very edge of the bed. He supposed it would be no good to wake her—though he desperately wanted to—and so instead he settled into bed and tried to wrap his arms around her.

Even in her sleep, she wanted no part of his advances. She swatted him away before rolling over once more and muttering something about needing some _damn peace and quiet._

* * *

And this odd new life continued on as Robert adjusted to being back at Downton.

The girls were full of boundless energy, constantly bouncing around the house and squabbling at every turn. Mary was often found in the sitting room with Edith, explaining to her sister the qualities of a proper lady and yelling them at her to make sure Edith was fully grasping the lessons. Their shouts would only intensify when Cora intervened, and would usually end with both of them being sent off to the nursery—Cora red-faced and throwing her hands up in exasperation.

Sybil, on the other hand, seemed attached to Cora's hip. She followed her mother around for hours on end, asking countless questions about the most bizarre and outlandish things. She would hang on Cora's skirts and tug on them until she received some sort of answer. Then she would come up with another ridiculous question and start the whole process over again.

Cora looked to be grinding her teeth most times, or staring out the window daydreaming about something else entirely. And on the rare occasions that the girls were not present, she looked to be absorbed in paperwork from housekeeper or sorting through piles of correspondences on her desk.

* * *

They had finally had their proper reunion two nights after his return home.

Cora had been awake and in bed reading when he approached tentatively, kissing her lips and touching her body as if silently asking for permission. She said nothing but rolled over, leaned back, and wrapped her legs around his body, closing her eyes and grasping at her pillow as he pushed into her.

He hovered only slightly above her, wanting to feel her soft skin against his own and remember how wonderful it felt when she pushed up against him, enjoying their intimacies as much as he did. He thrust into her slowly, not wanting it to end, and waited for her to wrap her arms around him or groan his name with a heavy, pleasure coated voice as she always did.

She was nearly silent, though, until the very end, only murmuring his name once and kissing his cheek before mimicking her routine of the nights before wrapping her awful dressing gown back on and rolling over to the edge of the bed.

Bewildered, Robert pulled his nightclothes back on and rolled to the opposite side of the bed, clutching his pillow and wondering what on earth had happened to his wife.

They repeated this distant lovemaking several times over the next few weeks.

Robert began to hate the tartan dressing gown and even had a fairly violent dream about setting fire to it. But before he could act out his imaginings it was time to pack up and head down to London for the season.

* * *

_A/N: Fear not, we have just begun! _


	2. Part Two

The train ride to London was been a hellish nightmare vaguely reminiscent of the fifth circle of Dante's Inferno. The private train car that once seemed large when the girls were small now seemed an instrument of torture. Squeezed in with four women, three of whom thought it would be pleasant to scream, pinch at each other and continually inquire as to how much longer the ride would be, made Robert question why the army did not employ little girls to question prisoners from the other side. It would be a most effective tactic, he thought. By the end of the ride he was ready to jump right from the moving car to get away from the little ruffians masked in lace and curls.

Miraculously he managed to get everyone off the train and bundle the girls and his wife into the waiting carriage, followed by their luggage and servants behind them. Cora had remained mostly quiet throughout their journey, but he had noticed a brighter expression painted across her face for most of the day. She seemed less bothered by the girls and their shouts, and only scolded Mary once, for pulling her sister's hair. And even more odd, when they arrived at the house, he could swear Cora skipped up the walk toward the door.

He was beginning to think that perhaps _he _was the one who was acting strangely.

The girls scattered throughout the house, exploring their new surroundings, and left their parents alone in the foyer. Their little yells and pounding feet could still be heard but it was a welcome respite from the close quarters on the train. Cora smiled sweetly at him as she directed her maid upstairs to unpack, promising to be up momentarily to oversee the process.

"I'm so very glad we're in London," Cora whispered, pressing a kiss to Robert's lips. He grinned widely at the impetuous gesture but before he could reciprocate she had bounded up the stairs, leaving him in yet another state of utter bewilderment.

* * *

Robert oversaw his own unpacking and then decided to venture over to their bedroom, hoping to catch Cora alone.

The room was empty, and looked as though Cora and her maid were already through with her cases. All the luggage was tucked neatly under the bed and only the wardrobe in the far corner was opened slightly. Curious, Robert padded across the room and opened the chest. Truth be told, he had no real interest in the fashions of his wife or daughters. What he was curious about, though, was whether or not the damned tartan dressing gown had followed him to London. And indeed, it was hanging precariously on the edge of the wardrobe. But perhaps she had brought other things as well?

Pulling out one of the drawers, he felt excitement flutter up through his body as his fingers met the delicate silk and lace of the beloved pale blue and cream-colored nightdress. Pulling it up to inspect it, he grinned with delight as he imagined Cora slipping into it…and then out of it soon after.

And as he carefully folded it back into the drawer, something even more exciting caught his eye. Tucked away beneath some of Cora's undergarments, he saw a flash of deep red silk, trimmed with a matching lace—a garter of some sort. His fingers reached for the garment and he was just about to pull it out of the drawer when he heard the pounding of six tiny feet charging down the hall.

Stuffing it back beneath the nondescript camisoles and undergarments, Robert shut the cabinet doors and whipped around just as his daughters infiltrated, tearing into the room in search of their mama. They looked at him like an intruder, someone impeding their search and someone who was vying for the attention of the person they ran through the halls shouting for. They didn't bother asking what he was doing poking around in the wardrobe, and instead they all exchanged a frown, giggled at their papa's odd expression and ran back out of the room.

Robert breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed against the bed as his thoughts returned to the exciting discovery he had just made. Perhaps later in the evening he would be treated to his wife in one of those most interesting ensembles. Feeling his body begin to react, he stood and wandered out of the room before he was completely taken away with thoughts of Cora and silk undergarments.

Night came and found Robert sitting in bed as eager as a little boy on Christmas morning. When he arrived from his dressing room, Cora was already in the washroom and he could hear her moving around. He watched the door, waiting for his wife to emerge from the room wearing the silky fabrics he had been thinking about all afternoon.

The door clicked open and he felt himself nearly burst with anticipation.

But when Cora emerged in her long white nightdress and tartan dressing gown slung over her shoulders without so much as even glancing up at him, he suddenly realized that something was very, very wrong. But perhaps Cora was simply tired after a long day of travel and so he kept his counsel, hoping that the next night would be a bit more exciting.

* * *

For the next three, Cora exited the washroom in the same long white nightdress looking exhausted and as if the very last thing she wanted was for him to be anywhere near her.

Finally Robert decided to take things into his own hands, so to speak.

At first he thought that he had done something to upset Cora; that her silent embargo and odd nightwear was all part of some elaborate punishment for his forgetting to do or purchase something that he was supposed to.

But after inquiring, well bribing, her lady's maid, he learned that she had not so much as even mentioned being upset with him.

A similar conversation over tea with his sister seemed to confirm that fact.

It was late in the afternoon and Cora had taken the girls out to be fitted for some new dresses. He and Rosamund were decamped in the library with tea and the latest gossip; something he found he actually missed whilst away. There was nothing quite as frivolous as listening to Rosamund gossip about various society women while having one's tea. It made one rather grateful and was a reminder of what a luxury being home actually was.

It was not until his second cup that a red flag was raised. "Cora must be so glad to finally be in London, It's all she's been talking about for the last two months," his sister said, conversationally.

His confused expression must have surprised her because she stopped mid sentence and looked at him curiously as he frowned and took another long sip.

"She's been excited about coming?" He asked, raising a brow. Either Rosamund was being particularly sarcastic or he was indeed missing something. Cora seemed anything but excited lately. If she was not complaining about the summer heat and the crowds then she was chasing after the girls, whose nanny seemed utterly incapable of keeping them in one room for very long.

Her frown told him that she was not being sarcastic at all. And in fact now it was she who looked rather confused. "Yes, before you returned she said…" His sister frowned again and trailed off, as if replaying the words in her mind and thinking better of repeating them.

"What did Cora say?" He asked, his tone shaper than he intended.

Rosamund hesitated and looked around warily, unsure of whether to release the words into the room likely surrounded by the prying eyes, and ears, of servants and various family members flitting in and out. "She said…she said she couldn't wait to be away from it all; free from the prying eyes of Downton…to enjoy herself."

Robert swallowed a long gulp of tea and tried to remain passive. Standing up and saying a hasty goodbye to Rosamund, whom he left looking rather embarrassed, he rushed back upstairs, bursting into the bedroom on a mission.

He closed the door and locked it behind him, not wanting to be discovered by any of the servants, or, God forbid, his wife. Creeping over to her vanity, he felt a rather large twinge of guilt. This was not like him, sneaking around about to poke about in Cora's belongings. What on earth did he think he was going to find?

But then he turned, only slightly, and caught sight of the wardrobe in the corner.

Hanging outside was the hideous tartan robe.

Something was not right.

Their London trips used to be full of events at night and long walks through the park by day. He had barely seen her these last days, as she had been out on various social calls. She packed frilly, lace undergarments but came to bed wrapped in her robe each night, pecking him on the cheek before rolling over and falling right to sleep.

Unless. Unless…

What if?

No. No. It couldn't possibly be.

Could it?

The horrible revelation of it all, even the possibility, overwhelmed him and brought him to his knees. A terrible, sharp pain coursed through him and he stumbled backward toward the bed, resting on the edge as he felt his face start to flush.

No, no. No. Cora wouldn't. She—they, they were in love! She would never…

"_I need some peace and quiet, is that so hard to understand?" _

"_Can't you keep them quiet?" _

"_Robert, not tonight."  
_

"_I'm tired—no."_

"_Just don't touch me, alright?"_

"_Doesn't anyone in this house understand?"_

"_You come back early and all you do is take walks or read."_

"_Don't you see? You can't go away and expect everything to be the same."_

All her words echoed in his ears, making him feel rather ill. Every odd sentence, annoyed look and perturbed sigh suddenly came rushing back, pushing to the forefront of his mind and piecing together like a puzzle. And he saw his whole life, the life they had created together, shatter on their bedroom floor.

His hands were shaking when he gathered his thoughts and stood a few moments later. Out of anger or confusion, he wasn't completely sure.

Was he supposed to feel angry that the risqué nightwear was not intended for his eyes? Was he supposed to feel sad, or guilty? He had left for war. She begged him not to go, told him she couldn't live without him. But he left anyway.

Perhaps it was his fault that she needed to seek comfort elsewhere?

Or perhaps it wasn't comfort she was seeking at all.

Yes, it was anger that he felt.

A burning dark anger that rushed through him and made him want to smash every object in sight. Setting his sights back on her vanity, he pulled open the delicate drawers, some of them crashing right to the floor. He rifled through the various papers and trifles, wholly unsure of what he was looking for but positive that he was already half out of mind with anger. And fear.

He found it in the top drawer, written on the stationary she wrote her letters and appointments on. Written in her delicate and loopy handwriting that made his heart clench each time he saw it. The same handwriting that had filled countless envelopes and letters while he was away.

_The Savoy. 6 PM. May 24__th__. _

That was tomorrow evening.

Tomorrow evening his wife had an appointment at a hotel.

Out of some sick sense of curiosity, his eyes wandered back to the wardrobe in the corner. The wardrobe where all her nightclothes and underthings were sitting, mocking him and offering a physical representation of everything he was losing.

Not bothering to clean up the mess, he crept back over and opened it once more. Sliding out the drawer he had opened upon their arrival a few days earlier, he expected to be met with the deep red silk of the garter and the soft fabric of her nightdresses.

But the drawer was empty.

He felt the anger bubbling up inside him once more. Perhaps she was wearing it now, waiting with anticipation for May 24th at 6 PM. Waiting for the moment she could be rid of him, rid of their house and their life. Or perhaps she had packed it up already, eagerly anticipating her little trip.

How on earth did she plan on explaining her absence? Would she feign some illness and sneak out of the house? Would she pretend to be paying a social call and have it "run late?" Maybe she would just leave, offering no explanation and instead just casting out into the night without him.

He sank down onto the floor, his back leaning against the wardrobe. How could she? How could she do this to them?

He banged his head against the wardrobe in frustration.

Cora's tartan nightgown came flying down from its perch on the hook, hitting him right in the face.

* * *

Dinner was a rather silent affair. The girls had been sent to eat in the nursery, punishment for causing a scene in the dress shop, and so it was only Robert, Cora, Rosamund, Marmaduke and his mother.

Rosamund looked guilty for upsetting him earlier, Marmaduke was oblivious, his mother seemed curious at the odd tone of the conversation and Cora seemed unaware of his anger.

When she returned from the dressmaker with the girls, she had been in a surprisingly good mood. Well not surprising anymore, considering what she was apparently looking forward to. They had run into one another, quite literally, in the library. Cora only giggled, leaning up and kissing his cheek as she chastised him for being so clumsy. She looked hurt when he pulled away and muttered something about having to change for dinner.

He could barely stand to be in the same room as her. Not now, not like this, anyway.

He spent most of the evening mulling over the options in his mind. He could confront her later that night, before she ever had a chance to make her meeting, before she threw away everything.

Or he could let her go. Pretend it didn't bother him and simply let their marriage settle into the mold everyone always thought it would.

If she wanted to go, perhaps he should let her.

* * *

Dinner passed uneventfully and Robert made his way up the stairs to bed with Cora trailing a few paces behind. She reached for his hand but he pretended not to see and soldiered forward, his eyes fixed on his dressing room door.

Cora reached out for him again as they approached her bedroom. "The girls are all asleep," she murmured softly, her eyes alight and her tone full of mirth. She took a step closer and reached out to grasp his lapels.

Robert flinched and took a step backward, forcing her to release her hold. Her eyes immediately darkened again and she looked at him confusedly. "I'm going to sleep in my dressing room."

"What? Why?" Cora asked, looking utterly confused. She took a step toward him and shook her head, not understanding why he was still backing away from her.

"I would prefer to sleep alone." He replied bitterly, already turned toward his door. He didn't wait for Cora's response before leaving her out in the hallway, shutting himself in the safety of his dressing room.

He remained silent as his valet undressed him and slipped into bed desperately hoping for sleep, desperately hoping for anything that would stop the horrible imaginings. But of course he couldn't sleep, not without Cora.

He tossed and turned for hours before conceding defeat.

He needed her, as loath as he was to admit it. She didn't want him anymore, but he still needed her so very much. Still wanted her so terribly.

He crept out of bed and peeked his head into the adjoining room. Cora's soft breathing could be heard and he could make out her sleeping form on the bed. Cursing himself for being so weak when it came to her, he climbed into bed and hoped that she wouldn't wake. He didn't want to talk to her, didn't even really want to see her. He only wanted to know that she was asleep beside him.

But nothing seemed to go his way. Cora turned in her sleep, and wrapped an arm around his waist, murmuring his name as she settled against him.


	3. Part Three

Robert woke to something unusual.

Silence.

Adjusting his eyes to the morning light streaming in through the window, he turned on his side to find himself alone in bed. Cora's pillows had been readjusted and the blankets on her side of the bed were pulled up and smoothed out. But stranger than Cora's absence was the absolute silence in the room. Every morning since his return, he had woken to the sound of his daughters chirping voices, knocking wildly at the bedroom door. They never wanted anything from him, beyond waking him, and when he'd open the door they would charge past him and jettison themselves onto the bed, poking at Cora until she woke up.

But today, he had woken to silence.

He rang for his valet and dressed quickly, curious to see what he would find downstairs. Sleep had made his mind no calmer than the night before and his thoughts were still a jumbled mess of anger and confusion. Confronting Cora seemed out of the question. She would never admit to an affair, and he had no idea where he would even find the words to ask. She would do anything to spare him hurt, that much he knew, and so he was left with a resounding sadness as he rounded the last stair and found himself on the main floor of the house which seemed as silent as their bedroom had.

He almost pitied the young hall boy that nearly ran into him. But not enough to stop himself from scaring the lad half out of his wits. "Where are my daughters?" He demanded. The young man stuttered and shrugged his shoulders as he mumbled something about being unsure. Robert shook his head, angry at everything under his roof, and tried another question. "Where is my wi—Lady Grantham?" He inquired. Again, the hall boy looked bewildered and stumbled over his words.

He was just about to start shouting about the incompetence of everything and everyone around him when Carson appeared, as he often did at precisely the right moment, and intervened mid stutter.

"Milord, the young ladies have been brought to Lady Rosamund's house," he explained, dismissing the hall boy with a curt nod.

"And who on earth decided that?" Robert shouted. Carson looked nearly as bewildered as the hall boy and pursed his lips for a moment to compose himself.

"Lady Grantham brought them over about an hour ago, Milord. She took the car so that she could pay some calls afterward," he replied.

"Of course she did—" he muttered, turning on his heels and stomping back up toward the stairs.

Robert was rather surprised his feet did not put holes in the floor, as he was walking so forcefully. He slammed the door to his dressing room and paced the room. It was one thing if Cora planned to spend her afternoon and evening doing God knows what, but now she had involved the children as well. She had taken his children away. And he certainly was not going to stand for that.

* * *

The butler showed him into Rosamund's sitting room where he stood and continued to pace, the one motion that seemed a constant over the last twenty-four hours. He heard muffled voices in the hall and a moment later his sister came into the room with a surprised look plastered on her face. She was such a terrible liar. She was always one to say exactly what she felt; she found it near impossible to keep a secret.

"Robert, dear, what a surprise." Rosamund smiled and approached him, frowning slightly at his pacing but still leaning in to give him a kiss. "Is everything alright?"

"No! Everything is most certainly not alright. Where are my daughters?" His tone was sharp, and Rosamund looked even more concerned. She pursed her lips, much as Carson had done, and was about to speak when his three little girls came bounding into the room with shouts of _Papa. _

Momentarily forgetting the task at hand, if there even was one, Robert knelt down on the floor and opened his arms as Edith and Sybil bounded toward him, Mary walking primly behind them. "We missed you, Papa!" Sybil's tiny voice squeaked, and it was nearly his undoing. Lifting his youngest up into his arms and reaching for Edith's hand, he turned back to his sister.

"Where is Cora?" He asked quietly, distracted by the stream of chatter already coming out of the girls. Sybil's small hands were patting his shoulder, to get his attention, and Mary had started complaining about the nursery game they'd been playing.

Rosamund blanched. She motioned for the maid who was standing warily in the background and nodded at the girls. "Could you please take them upstairs?" The maid smiled, but the girls instantly began to wail, even Mary stepping closer and clinging to his trouser leg. Regaining some of his sense before things got out of hand, Robert set Sybil back down, released Edith's hand and kissed their foreheads as he instructed them to do as their aunt said. They nodded sadly but skipped off in the direction of the main hall, waving their small hands at him as they left.

Rosamund was still standing uncomfortably in the middle of the room. "Where is Cora?" Robert repeated. His low voice sounded oddly detached and he knew he must have looked half mad.

Again Rosamund was silent. But after a pause, she sat on the nearest chair and looked up at him blankly. "She had some errands to run. She didn't want to take the girls to the dressmaker again, after what happened last time, and so I told her to bring them here."

"And when will she be returning for them?" Robert's eyes narrowed, aware that his sister knew more than her expression betrayed.

"I believe sometime before dinner…" Rosamund began.

"—I am to believe that my wife brought our children all the way here so that she could go to the dressmaker, which is precisely one block from our home, by herself?" He was pacing again, and found himself growing angrier by the second. Did Rosamund know what she was up to? Perhaps she did and just did not care. She was always one to appreciate a salacious story, besides she and Cora had grown close over the years. Rosamund would no doubt be willing to keep a secret for her.

"Robert, is something the matter? If you'd like one of the footmen to go to the shop and fetch Cora I can send someone now." Rosamund was always good at keeping her cool. Her lip twitched ever so slightly but her eyes locked confidently with his and expressed her silent solidarity. She was not going to tell him anything different than what Carson already had.

"I want…" Robert's voice trailed off and he looked down at the floor, suddenly feeling a rather inconvenient lump forming at the back of his throat. "I want to take the girls home with me," he said. It was an odd feeling, to be completely defeated.

But Rosamund shook her head, rebuffing his request. "I promised them a proper tea party, surely you won't deny me that?"

Yes, Rosamund was nothing if not excellent at getting things to go how she wanted them to. A skill certainly learned from their mother, she never had any trouble manipulating those around her—and he was no exception.

Nodding his consent, Robert cleared his throat and stepped toward the door. "I'll send the car to collect them at six," he added, not looking back.

* * *

Everything seemed wrong, distorted and as if it were being refracted through the glass of someone else's life. Robert sat on the stool in the pub neither knowing nor caring what time it was, and caring even less how he must have looked to those around him. He was not drunk, unfortunately, and only sat staring into his glass of scotch. All he wanted to do was forget. But each time he moved to take a sip, an overwhelming feeling of disturbance, of violent sickness, seemed to come over him.

It was all so very wrong.

After yet another curious look from the barkeep, Robert turned around and peered out the front window of the pub. The sun was no longer shining brightly and the hoards of people that had bustled past on his way in seemed to have vanished completely.

"What time is it?" Robert muttered, digging into his pocket to settle the bill.

"Just half past five, Sir," the man replied, handing back his change.

Half past five.

Nearly six.

_The Savoy. Six PM. May 24__th_

Cora's not flashed across his mind, unsettling his thoughts and stomach yet again. He murmured a good evening to the man behind the counter and wandered out to the street, never looking up from the ground.

Robert walked for several blocks before realizing where he was. Just one street over from The Savoy. His mind was clouded with pain and anger, but he tried to talk himself down—muttering various profanities as he got closer and closer to the building. He intended to walk right past and keep walking until he made it home. He had told Carson he would back hours ago and the girls would be back from Rosamund's soon. He needed to go home.

He needed for it to not matter that Cora would not be there to greet him.

He made it three steps past the entrance to the hotel when, as if possessed by his anger, he turned on his heels and headed for the door.

No, apparently he was not above it all. And it did matter. It mattered a very great deal. If Cora had the tenacity to leave their home and meet someone else at a hotel, well she was going to have to deal with him first.

He looked down at his watch. Nearly six.

Bounding up the stairs after being given the room number—and noting with vague confusion that she had not so much as bothered to supply a false name—he wondered if he would happen upon his wife already occupied with her _someone else. _

His fists contracted into tight balls and the tension in his jaw was almost painful as he approached the suite at the end of the hall. If the man were already there, he would certainly have to pay. For ruining the family Robert had worked so very hard to create, and for taking Cora from him, he would pay. Thoughts of a considerably violent nature flashed into his mind and frightened him. Was this what his life had really descended to?

He reached for the door handle and suddenly wondered what to do. He had no key, and knocking seemed rather pathetic. But when he turned the knob out of habit, and found that it clicked open, he charged through with renewed determination.

The room was covered in deep red rose petals and bathed in candlelight. The burgundy curtains were drawn shut and the bed, also covered in flower petals, was turned down for the night. There was a bottle of champagne resting near the settee and Cora's luggage was open and in the corner.

The determination he felt seconds earlier puddled at his feet when he saw his wife emerge from the washroom seconds later, her hair down in loose curls and her body wrapped in her delicate silk nightdress that had occupied so many of his dreams while away. She had been fiddling with the tie to her dressing gown but looked up when she realized she was no longer alone.

"Robert!" She cried, approaching him and releasing the ties. She reached out for his hands but he took a step back, looking at her with horror.

He opened his mouth to speak but found himself lost for words. It wasn't fair. None of it was fair. It hadn't been real until she walked through the door and looked in his eyes.

Now there was no more pretending.

"What are you doing here? It's not six o'clock yet—"

She smiled at him, though looked slightly confused, and reached for his hands again. She succeeded this time and held them tightly in her own. The feel of her soft skin against his renewed his anger, making him believe that she was trying to placate him and explain herself before he got enraged. Was she naïve enough to think he had not figured it out already?

"Why does it bloody matter what time it is? What are you doing here at all?" He roared, pulling back his hands so quickly. Cora's expression turned to one of shock and he saw her eyes begin to fill with tears. "How could you, Cora? How could you do this?"

He was pacing faster now, not even noticing that Cora backed away and sat on the chaise behind her.

"I'm sorry, I just thought—"

He interrupted her again, though, and was just about to start shouting when there was a knock at the door. Incredulous, he turned and laughed sardonically. "I wonder who that could be?" He shouted.

He caught a glimpse of the bewilderment in Cora's eyes and pulled the door open so quickly that it nearly came of its hinges.

A waiter with a large cart stood before him, looking frightened. "Room service, sir."

"I did not order any bloody room service!"

"—I ordered it," Cora replied, approaching the door and reaching into the pocket of her dressing gown to tip the man. "Thank you," she murmured, gesturing toward the sitting area. Robert stood silently as the man deposited the cart, nodded and took his leave.

Upon hearing the door click shut, Cora removed the cover from the tray to reveal several small cakes and fruits, all arranged in the shape of a heart. She turned to look at him, her eyes full of hurt. "Why are you so upset with me?" She asked. "And why did you come early?"

Robert's head was spinning. Every word that had been jumbling around his mind all afternoon seemed to freeze, making it impossible for any clear sentiment to pass: "Early?" was all he managed to say.

"My note said six o'clock?" She replied in question, re-covering the pastries and taking a tentative step toward him.

Still eyeing her warily, Robert pursed his lips and tried to conjure up something logical to say. But Cora's voice and the silk dressing gown she was wearing conspired to make him even more flustered. "What note?" His voice was suspicious.

Cora frowned. "Carson was supposed to give it to you this afternoon. You didn't get the note?"

Robert shook his head. "No, I've been out all afternoon."

Again, Cora looked confused. "Then how on earth did you know to meet me here?"

"Cora what are you talking about?" Robert yelled. His voice startled her and she backed away. He hated that she looked frightened. And he hated himself even more for frightening her. It was in that moment he knew that this had to stop. He looked down at his hands to see his fists balled tightly, his nails digging into the edges of his palms. His head was pounding and the pain that seemed to have taken up residence in his chest was aching terribly. "I'm sorry, Cora," he muttered, finally, looking up to meet her gaze. "I'm sorry for coming here and I'm sorry that I left you." His voice cracked, betraying any sense of strength he had left and he felt his knees weaken beneath him.

He looked away, embarrassed by what he had been reduced to, but felt Cora's arms around him only seconds later. His body tensed momentarily but quickly succumbed to his wife's tender touches and soft reassurances. Her hands pressed to his back and her lips ghosting just beyond his neck, he felt safe. And as if he had not been lowered enough already, he felt himself begin to cry. His tears, messy and so basely painful, fell upon the silk of Cora's garments but she seemed not to care or notice. She only held him tightly as the sobs wracked through his body.

He became vaguely aware of her movement when she led him toward the bed, sitting them both at the edge so she could sit level to him and look into his eyes. Using her thumbs to wipe away his tears, followed by a kiss pressed to his cheek, she looked softly at him.

"You never left me, Darling." Her voice was still soft, but it held a strength that he had never heard before. She sounded older, in a way, and surer of things than when they were young and unaware of life.

"You asked me not to go off to war, you said it would change things—I should have known this would happen," Robert replied, full of remorse. Oh how she had pleaded with him not to go. Her tears had soaked through his nightshirts countless times, her sobs punctuated with worries for his safety and health. And her sleep had been fraught with nightmares, often waking them both most disturbingly. But he had kissed her and promised to return; he had packed his bags and he had left.

"Darling, I was only concerned for you," she murmured, her fingers trailing gentle paths over his arms and chest. They stilled upon meeting his hands and he felt her slip their fingers together, effortlessly as ever. "But—what do you mean? What has happened?" She questioned, lines of worry etched across her delicate features.

Robert sighed, looking intently at their entangled fingers and feeling the cool metal of Cora's wedding rings pressed to his palm. "You don't have to explain," he murmured. "I understand."

"But, Robert, I _don't _understand. What are you talking about?"

"I love you so very much, you know." His voice was a hoarse whisper now, but his eyes remained fixed on hers. "I don't know why I haven't told you that more often. I really should have, it should not be so hard for me to say. Because I feel it so acutely," he explained, pressing their still entwined hands to his chest. "I love you, Cora, and I understand that you needed companionship, or someone to—"

Cora's gasp interrupted his musings, and she pulled one of her hands away to cover her mouth. Looking at her face, he knew that realization had sunk in.

"You think I planned to meet someone here?"

"Well, yes, I…I saw the note in the drawer of your vanity and you just seem so tired of me all the time," he replied pitifully.

"Robert, I am not tired of you—I am simply _tired." _She replied. "Have you interacted with our children recently? They are rather a handful. And with you not there, well, most everything fell to me. Darling, I…you really thought I came here to meet with someone else?"

Robert nodded slightly, his cheeks reddening at her frank question. "So you're not meeting someone else, then? But, I saw the nightwear in your drawer and…you never wore it for me," he added.

Cora stood and looked down at him. "Oh, Robert," she murmured. "You went through my things?"

Though embarrassed, he nodded again, waiting for her to chastise him. He still had no idea what they were doing in a hotel room, but he was quite certain that no other man would be arriving soon. He was absolutely mad, that much was clear, and had somehow forgotten that the woman standing before him, looking so very sad was not just his wife; it was Cora. Cora, who stepped on his feet while dancing and stole ginger biscuits from the kitchen for him; she was the woman who had promised to love him above all others and had bore his children. He knew her smile and face better than anyone else's. He loved her more than anything.

It was Cora, his Cora, and she would always be.

"Perhaps next time, before you fly off the handle, you could speak to your wife?" Cora's voice cut a stark contrast to his thoughts and pulled him from his contemplations. "I won't pretend that our lives have not changed, since you've been away. But if I ever gave you the impression that we were not alright, I'm so very sorry." Her tone was unwaveringly strong, but there was gentleness in her eyes and touch.

"No, don't apologize," Robert interrupted, taking her hands. "I'm so dreadfully embarrassed by my behavior. When I thought I might be losing you, I felt myself go half wild with the notion. I understand if you need time—time to forgive me. I've acted like such a fool."

"Yes, you have," Cora replied evenly. But looking up into her eyes, he saw they were filled with mirth. "But I won't have anyone speak about my husband in that manner." She smiled slightly and leaned down to kiss his lips, her fingers playing at starched material of his shirt.

Impetuously, Robert threw his arms around her, grasping tightly to his wife and making silent thanks that everything was all right. He would apologize again, of course, and again after that. He would apologize until she begged for him to stop.

"Cora?" He asked, finally. "Why are we here?"

"If you had read the note that I left for you, instead of traipsing around the city you would have your answer," she replied. She laughed, unguardedly, and kissed him once more before explaining. "Don't you remember? I wrote to you, months ago around Valentine's Day. I promised that once you returned we would celebrate properly."

"Did you? I'm sorry, I read your letters so many times but more often than not I was so glad to see your handwriting that I did not pay much attention to the words on the page…and well, this," he said, gesturing to the flower petal covered room, "is more than I ever expected."

"I wanted to make you happy," Cora whispered, sliding down into his lap.

"Like we were before the war?" Robert asked.

Cora shook her head, brushing a lock of hair from his face. "No, like we always are," she replied. "You must know, Robert, I'm not unhappy. Exhausted, and at times exasperated, but never unhappy. Our lives have changed; we've grown up, Darling. But that does not make me unhappy—it makes me proud of us." She frowned slightly but leaned into him, pressing their lips together to accentuate her point.

"Do you promise?" His voice was tentative and soft against her cheek where his lips explored her skin. She murmured something low, a hum from the depth of her throat and nodded as he kissed her again.

"Always," she answered, burying her head against the curve of his neck. "Always."

* * *

_A/N: There will be two more chapters. Don't forget, this story is rated "M" after all ;)_


	4. Part Four

"I suppose we should get home, then?"

Robert and Cora had been sat on the bed for untold minutes, just holding tightly to one another. He would have thought Cora asleep, if not for the steady movement of her fingers tracing up and down his back.

"Home?" Cora released her grip and leaned back, laughing as she moved to stand.

Robert nodded.

"Oh, absolutely not, Darling. I did not go through all the trouble of planning this just so we could go home empty handed." Cora raised her brow in mock indignation.

Robert nodded again, though unsure of what exactly he was agreeing with. "Empty handed?" He asked, standing up from the bed as well.

Cora looked at him through lowered lashes with a wicked grin reminiscent of days when children were the farthest things from either of their minds. Robert felt a twinge of excitement in the pit of his stomach as she closed the gap between them and reached for his hands. "Yes," she murmured, wrapping her delicate fingers around his hands, "I absolutely refuse to leave empty handed." And with that, Cora's hands slid up his arms, her nails scraping lightly at his shirt, and twined around the back of his neck.

The excited fluttering in his stomach grew exponentially as Cora's fingers twirled in the hair at the base of his head and she looked up at him with a wide grin. He knew that grin well. It was the very expression he had been searching for ever since his return. But mingling with his excitement was a feeling of guilt, an extreme guilt at the realization of just how ridiculous he had been acting. Cora, standing before him now, was just as he imagined for months on end. But now…perhaps she simply felt obligated? He reached up carefully and untangled her arms from around him. She looked utterly confused when he took a step back and inhaled a very deep breath.

"Cora, I don't want you to feel that you have to—"

He was interrupted by a deep frown complete with lines marking displeasure on his wife's forehead. For a moment she looked as though she did when she was about to shout at one of the children—a mixture of exasperation and annoyance, it was a particular mood of hers that had not fully evolved until after Sybil was born. But he watched as she took a breath and pursed her lips, remaining silent for a pause before stepping closer and closing the gap between them once more.

"Just stop talking." She replied simply.

Robert opened his mouth to speak but was rebuffed by the stern expression she wore. Only nodding in agreement, he stood still as she shrugged the tweed jacket off his shoulders and then pressed her palms flat against his chest. She looked up at him, a mirthful grin playing at her lips as her fingers wound around the fabric of his shirt. She remained silent as she methodically unclasped his braces, and removed his cufflinks, setting them down on the bedside table. And then, most unceremoniously, as if it was a spur of the moment decision, Cora reached just below the collar of his shirt and grasped hard—tugging until the material pulled apart, buttons flying all across the floor.

His surprise was apparent and as he eyed the buttons rolling under the bed, he considered that perhaps he had not detached himself from army procedure enough, as his first inclination was to clean up the mess on the floor. But then Cora's fingers met his bare skin and any thoughts of an orderly room flew right out of his mind.

"Cora, I—"

She shook her head, reaching for the clasp on his trousers. "Not a word, I said."

And so he complied, watching in silence as her nimble fingers undid the buttons and slid the fabric down his legs. Robert blushed ever so slightly, now, suddenly aware of his state of undress and the rather obvious state of his arousal. He and Cora had not been laid quite so bare in front of each other since before the war. His brief leaves had given them only the opportunity for hurried couplings late at night before he woke and spent time with the children and around the estate. And well, upon his return things had not been the same. But now everything was out in the open again, his body on display in the bright hotel room, as his wife's eyes looked upon him. He hoped that she found him unchanged, that his hands and chest and eyes all looked the same to her.

After gazing for a moment, Cora's hands reached down again—this time in search of the waistband of his shorts. He felt a blush color his cheeks as she pushed the fabric down and watched him kick the garments away. Still, she said nothing and only smiled softly at him. He wanted desperately to say something and break the silence. It unnerved him. He waned to know how she felt and if she was disappointed in him and why everything seemed the same but so very different, too.

But he had no chance for inquiries, because in an instant Cora's hands were all over him again, this time running up and down bare skin completely uninhibited. She murmured something breathy into his ear as her lips nipped at the skin on his neck but it was lost in the rustling of her nightdress and the sound of their skin pressing together. He understood her intent when she pressed her palms against him once more and pushed back, nudging him to the edge of the bed.

He climbed up onto the bed and crawled back so that he was perched against the pillows. Cora gazed at him and untied her dressing down, letting the flimsy garment pool at her feet. Standing before him like a vision, he desperately resisted the urge to pounce on her. He did not want to appear overzealous, as he was still unsure of precisely where he stood in the landscape of their lives. It was vaguely reminiscent of their early days together. But this time it was he who was hesitant, and he who wondered if perhaps the affections of the one he loved so very much had gone cold.

Perhaps if he could just ask her—

"Cora, I—"

She looked up from the clasp on her nightdress that she had been toying with. Her eyes were alight with warning; she climbed atop the bed as well, but instead of sitting beside him she simply crawled right into his lap, dangerously close and staring right into his eyes as she straddled his waist.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," she explained. Before he could reply, she leaned forward and kissed his lips. The feel of her soft lips against his mouth was overwhelming. The kiss was more intense than anything they had shared as of recent and even more overwhelming was the fact that she had planted herself right on top of him. He groaned inwardly as he felt his arousal grow, absolutely sure that Cora had noticed too. So much for not appearing overzealous.

But Cora grinned wickedly again, breaking away from his lips and gazing downward. And in what could only be deemed an act of sheer torture, she pressed herself more deliberately atop him, rubbing against him as she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in for another kiss.

Aside from a muted groan, Robert remained as still and quiet as possible—a task that became increasingly difficult as Cora continued her ministrations. The feel of her silk nightdress against his stomach made his insides burn and twist with pleasure. Her lips were on his again, this time with her tongue running over him. Her motions were becoming more and more insistent, as was her rocking motion against him, but still he tried to control himself.

She began murmuring something against his lips but the words were jumbled between them. Finally, she broke away and looked into his eyes. "Put your hands on me," she whispered. Her tone was soft but intent and she wasted no time in punctuating her statement with another kiss, her own hands roaming over his nude form. His semblance of propriety, or reluctance to appear as excited as his body so obviously was, suddenly seemed incredibly stupid. His hands flew right into motion, grasping at his wife's hips and tearing at the silky material sheathing her skin.

As his brain tried to figure out how to remedy the barrier of clothing between their skin, his lips clicked into motion as well, sucking at the soft skin just at the base of Cora's neck. There would likely be a mark to cover come morning, but judging by the approving groans that his actions were eliciting, she did not particularly care. And nor did he. Just as he was about to tear the damned thing right off her, Cora seemed to sense his frustration and slowed her movements, grasping at the fabric so she could lift it over her head and then press herself against his chest.

He looked down at her bare skin, glistening ever so slightly with perspiration and grinned widely. Feeling a strange sensation of something brushing against his thigh, he looked down to see the deep red lace garter, the one from her drawer, wrapped around her leg. She was panting and her hair was already mussed. He only realized that he had stopped moving completely, in favor of gaping happily at her and the garter, when she grabbed at him again, whispering "I want you to touch me," in a voice so coated with pleasure it was almost unrecognizable.

Wordlessly he endeavored to honor her request. The feel of her soft skin against him was heavenly and without the confining silk he was free to let his lips trail further down her chest, taking her breast into his mouth to the sound of her unguarded sighs of excitement. He felt her skin heat beneath his lips and when his tongue circled her nipple she nearly arched right out of his grasp.

She murmured his name over and over. It made him feel strong and capable, to be the one who made her feel this way. And as his fingers traced over her skin as lightly as he could manage, he knew there was no better feeling in the world.

Somehow they both knew what needed to happen next. As Cora released her firm grasp on him, flouncing backward and looking up, eyes bleary and cheeks rosy, she silently relinquished her control. It was his turn now, his turn to hold the power and hold his wife. Now he could show her, but really show himself, he was still the same man who had left for war so many months ago. Perhaps he was even stronger now.

His hands grasped her hips and he tugged her closer to where he knelt before her. Kissing down past her breasts, her stomach and all the way down to her thighs—making sure to pay particular attention to the garter—Robert relished in the way she writhed beneath him, groaning his name and humming her pleasure. Her fingers grasped ineffectually at the bed sheets and at his skin, stoking the fire within him until his arousal was painfully hard. Settling between her legs, he leaned forward and kissed her shoulder, looking into her eyes for permission before thrusting into her.

Their cries tangled in the thick air above them and Robert's motions became more intense as they continued. He would never be rough with his wife, would never risk hurting her, but they both derived a certain pleasure from holding one another just a little too tightly, her nails scraping up his back and his fingers pressing into the soft skin at the curve of her waist. He needed to feel her beneath him, looking up as though he was the only one who could ever satisfy her. And of course she did. For she knew him better than anyone, and knew better than he, even, what they both needed this night.

Soon their cries turned to murmurs, which then phased to whispers of breath. Their sweat coated bodies pressed together atop the bed sheets, and they said nothing in favor of lying silently—skin to skin.

Eventually they regained their senses and adjusted themselves more comfortably. Robert lay back against the pillows as Cora settled into the crook of his arm, resting her head against his chest. She once said she liked hearing his heart beat; said that the sound of it made her feel like they were so much bigger than the world around them. He had never understood, but always indulged her. He used to think it silly, and would to tell her that they already were so much bigger than the world around them; they were privileged and lucky, and the world kneeled at their whims.

Or so once he might have thought.

He knew now that they were but cosmic flickers in the universe, capable of little beyond the walls of their world. They were fragile and their two heartbeats pressed together felt different now. It sounded different now. Perhaps it was the war that had made him sentimental. Or perhaps things could only be this clear after such a long absence.

But now, for whatever the reason, looking down at his wife, he understood.


	5. Part Five

A quiet room, comfortable bed and the delicious exertion of their coupling had conspired to make Robert and Cora fall asleep much faster then they had intended. There was talk of a bath or dinner, but before either could help themselves, they were sleeping off the excess of it all.

It was some time later when Cora awoke with a start, inadvertently jolting up and out of Robert's grasp. Months upon end of interrupted sleep had made her fitful nights a regular occurrence, and she had trained herself to wake upon hearing even the slightest noise. But turning slightly to see her husband almost produced a fit of tears, for the realization that none of their children would be coming in to interrupt them was the most welcome realization she could possibly have. She considered getting up herself, now that she was awake again, and perhaps taking a bath on her own or finding a book to read—the possibility of quiet activities seemed endless, now that they were alone. But, Robert muttered something softly in his sleep, words lost to her ears, and it caught her attention once more. Looking down at him, she couldn't help but study his face. The small perceptible lines that hadn't been there years before and the slight greying at the edges of his hair made him look more mature and distinguished than he had when they were just children learning together how to become adults.

He looked so peaceful, wrapped in the soft sheets and clutching at his pillow. He muttered something again a moment later, this time his brow furrowing in tandem with his words, and he fidgeted uncomfortably beside her. Cora paused, knowing how he hated to be woken—except in particular ways—and considered letting him sleep, but when the fidgeting became more pronounced, and his mutterings more vocal, she couldn't bear to let him go on having whatever sort of bad dream he appeared to be having.

Cora leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips, and was only momentarily startled when his eyes flew open with something she could swear was fear steeped in his gaze. "Robert?" She murmured his name and felt his body tense beside her, his face blushing to an uncomfortable shade of red as his gaze fixed on her.

"I'm sorry," he replied, breaking eye contact and pulling the sheet up protectively around him, "it was just a dream or something."

Cora nodded, reaching down to brush a stray lock of hair away from his perspiring forehead. "A bad dream?"

He nodded in reply but said nothing, closing his eyes as though he wanted to end their brief conversation and go right back to sleep. But after a pause, he opened his eyes once more and looked up at her, the same fear she thought she recognized moments before now plainly written in his features.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, reaching for her hand. He cleared his throat and looked down at their hands. "I didn't mean to wake you. Sometimes I forget that I'm home, I suppose. I dream about being back….back in some battle or something."

Cora drew herself down against the pillow so they were side by side, their faces only inches apart, as she moved her head to the pillow he was already reclined against. "It's alright, darling," she cooed softy, brushing her fingers through his hair again. "This happens often?" She swallowed the guilt of realizing that she'd no clue what his sleeping habits were truly like as of late; usually she fell asleep seconds after falling into bed at night and knew that he certainly did not want to wake her, with how her moods had been.

Robert hesitated but nodded. "Sometimes, yes. But I'm perfectly fine and I didn't mean to wake you—"

Pressing her lips to his before he could get out another word, Cora silenced his protestations the one way she always knew would work. Drawing back from the kiss after a pause she looked imploringly at him, wanting her eyes to relay what her words were having trouble explaining. "No, please don't apologize. "_I'm _the one who is sorry; sorry for making you feel as though you couldn't tell me before. I've been so busy with the girls and the house and feeling overwhelmed by everything, I think I've just forgotten what life was like before. It's—it's why I wanted to do this," she explained, gesturing around the room.

Robert nodded again in understanding as he propped himself up on his elbow and smiled gently, pressing a kiss to his wife's forehead. "We just all need some time to adjust back into our lives." He replied simply. His warm blush had cooled and his even tone assured her that he was confident all would be right again. He had a habit of reassuring her in times of uncertainty, and this time was no different. It was from his confident presence that she always drew her own strength.

"I think you're right, darling," Cora murmured, nestling back beside him and kissing his chest. She breathed in the familiar scent of his cologne, something she'd clung to while he was away—even going so far as to spray some on the empty side of the bed—but it had not been the same. Even now, wrapped in his arms and her lips pressed to his skin, it all felt like a dream. But it wasn't a dream, and he was right; they were going to all have to make the difficult transition into life after war, whatever it brought their way.

* * *

"I'd forgotten how much you enjoyed strawberries," Robert noted as Cora popped another berry into her mouth. The two were sat cross-legged on the settee with the various plates of food Cora had ordered before his arrival strewn around between them.

Dipping a strawberry into the bowl of Crème Chantilly, she only smirked at him as she polished off the last of the fruit. Her quick motion left a trail of whipped cream on her chin, which produced the most wicked smile on Robert's face. Before she could so much as think to find a napkin, she found herself pulled into his lap, his lips making quick work of the sweetened cream.

"That is good," he noted, leaning in and hoping for another kiss. Cora rolled her eyes playfully but happily obliged and pressed their lips together once more, tasting the sweetness on his tongue as it slipped into her mouth. Robert's hands quickly found her hips and toyed with the loose material of her dressing gown as she attempted to lean back, quickly realizing the rest of the settee was covered in their desserts. Not an unwelcome discovery unless one planned on dessert of a different sort entirely.

Robert looked sheepish as he nearly pressed his wife's back into a plate of crème puffs, and drew her back into his lap, hoping to salvage the romantic turn the evening had once again taken. Cora only giggled, though, and seemed unaware of anything but her husband's hands on her. She stood, somewhat clumsily, and held out her palms to him, helping him to a standing position.

"Don't you think we should make full use of the comfortable bed, darling?" She inquired as he attempted to sweep her up into his arms. If it were up to Robert, he'd likely take her right there on the hotel room floor. Not that it wasn't all very well and good, but after sitting across from him, sharing desserts and laughter and unguarded smiles, all she wanted was for him to take her in his arms again and hold her close—not hurried passions on a strange floor. Not yet, at least.

Robert grinned as she slipped out of his grasp, in an attempt to punctuate her words, and took a few steps away from him, back toward the bed. He closed the distance again, but found her unwilling to give up the game just yet. She giggled too and took off running back toward the bed.

She nearly made it to her intended location before feeling Robert's hands grab her waist from behind, propelling them both forward onto the mattress. Dissolving into a fit of giggles so strong neither of them had seen likely since Mary was born, they rolled around on the mussed sheets, attempting to catch their breath.

"I love you so terribly much, Cora." Robert whispered, pulling her light body against his. She could feel his heart beating faster from their laughter and rested her head against his chest, the sound intensifying as soon as her ear met his skin.

"I love you too," she answered quietly, listening intently to the rhythmic beating. She could feel his hands drawing soothing patterns across her back through the silk of her dressing gown but all she could focus on was the beating, anchoring her to him.

Robert seemed to understand what she needed, and held her like that for untold minutes

* * *

They came together again, later that night, and then again come morning—that time on the settee in the sitting room to indulge her husband's boyish grin—before packing Cora's small bag and walking down and out of the hotel, arm in arm. They'd had more sleep that night than either had in months, even including their more amorous interruptions, and their faces were bright and reflective of the extra rest.

They chatted during the walk back to Grantham House, having decided fresh air seemed a more enticing option than calling for the car, and strolled along the street like they had years and seasons before. It was easier, somehow, than it had been in the preceding weeks. Though neither would credit it solely to their physical reconnection, they both knew that it was certainly helpful.

Through Robert's jealous inclinations, Cora's daily frustration and the business of their lives, they had somehow forged two paths where that should have only been one. His absence, and the inevitability of their growing family had collided in ways they had never anticipated. They both knew, and had spoken in whispers, late the night before, that they were going to have to make a concerted effort not to let it happen again—not to let daily little incidents swell into larger problems left unchecked over time.

They had promised, the night before and years before, to never let anything come between them for better or worse.

So they strolled along, allowing themselves to pretend they were young and carefree, just a couple on the precipice of their lives as they had been only a handful of years before. It was nice to pretend for just a while.

But when they walked up the steps of the house, and were met at the door by three little girls who had their mother's eyes and father's voice, little girls who threw their arms around them and told them how much they loved them and had missed them, they felt their world was just as it should be—that their lives together, though perhaps more complicated now, were bound by forces much greater than youthful indulgence and unknowing adoration.

Robert picked up his youngest daughter, carefully balancing her on his hip as he carried Cora's bag into the foyer, and watched Mary close the front door behind them. He smiled as his wife kissed his cheek and took the bag from him, and his daughters continued to circle around them and chatter on. For it was then he knew more than perhaps he ever had, that his heart, his silly and jealous heart and quick to fire heart, could just burst at the sight of it all. And as the family ambled into the sitting room, stumbling over dolls and misplaced hair ribbons, he felt the pieces of their lives finally slipping back into place.

* * *

_A:N: Eek! You guys, I am so sorry for the delay. I hate to use a lame cliche, but life happens and I just got so busy with less exciting academic writing and the like. I hope you guys enjoyed the story and this last little piece of Valentine's Day in March :)_


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